One Day
by xThe Painted Lady
Summary: ...This fire would burn a little brighter. /Kreacher, seeing Master Regulus in a different light.


_**A/N:** Written for Round 10 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I wrote this from Kreacher's perspective because... That's just what happened. I do hope I managed alright. _

_**Word count:** 2927_

_Onward!_

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It is a universally accepted truth that children are unwise.

The assessment rang true one early morning for one, young Sirius Black.

oOo

The hallways of Number 12 bristled with a certain kind of tension in the wake of dawn, a morning of which was yet to fully bloom. The skies were painted black with the faintest strip of blue at the horizon, cloaking the world in a chilled darkness. Kreacher shuffled through the corridors of the house, shivers racking his body. He knew neither the Mistress or Master would appreciate the cold that had settled inside, so he snapped his bony fingers in order to charm a little heat.

He motioned to move down the stairway leading to basement then, but bewilderment and fear made him stop in his tracks. The hallway hadn't been granted any warmth, and Kreacher could not recall a time when his magic had failed. He snapped his fingers again and waited for the heat that never came.

The elf's shivers steadily became more violent, but he wasn't foolish - he wouldn't overexert his magic in hopes that eventually it would work. Instead, he avoided the kitchen, and made to investigate the phenomenon, preferably as fast as he possibly could.

He shuffled up the stairs, through the dark hallways that seemed to close in around him as everything became colder. Perhaps a window had been left open. Improbable, but not impossible. He would simply close it if that were the case.

But as Kreacher weaved his way through every room in a form of silence that would shame a ghost, he discovered no trace of forgetfulness. Everything was as polished and put in their place, just as they should be.

The Masters' bedrooms were often easily accessible to the elf, although Kreacher did not need be ordered twice to know never to intrude on them without preamble, unless within the case of a dire situation. When he reached Master Regulus's door, however, he needn't open it to know that something was wrong.

He pressed himself as close to the door as possible without touching it. From there, he heard what sounded to be muffled whimpers, as though Master Regulus was trying extremely hard not to cry. He heard thumps and hisses, the closest things a child could get to curses, and finally, heavy breathing.

Kreacher's first instinct was to go inside and comfort the young Master, calm him down, make sure he didn't explode and wake his still sleeping Mistress. He carefully contemplated several outcomes of two actions (for there were few things Kreacher could do besides retreat back to the kitchen) - prepare a breakfast and pretend he hadn't noticed something, and entering Master Regulus' room without permission or, seemingly, extreme need. He knew the young Master was merely having a tantrum for an unknowable reason, but despite the rare occurance of such things, the end of them were not often pleasant.

Kreacher soon made his decision. He drew in a breath and hoisted up his makeshift robe, secured around his shoulder with the Black family crest, and entered the room.

"Master Regulus."

What he found came as a slight shock.

There sat Master Regulus at the end of the room, looking like he was attempting to stare into an abyss, but his neck couldn't quite reach over the window seat to do so. The curtains had been pulled back, allowing a faint blue light to spill over the room.

Kreacher padded inside and closed the door behind him. "Master Regulus," he spoke again.

The young Master started, turning wide eyes on the elf. The fact that he hadn't heard the first time shocked Kreacher even more, for his rich bullfrog voice never failed to carry across a room.

He moved closer. "Master should be in bed," he croaked.

Regulus retained a startled expression, but his eyes had narrowed at those words. He turned away.

Kreacher thought he heard a faint scuffling from the closet, but paid no mind to it. He opened his mouth to speak once again, but then came the loud voice of his other young Master. The shout that came next could've bursted his eardrums as it bounded off the walls, all ending up in one place and expelling back out again like a raging fire.

"REG! MUM'S GOING TO GO MAD!"

Kreacher's jaw clenched, but that was little reaction compared to Regulus's, whose face had contorted with rage in a way that was disturbingly similiar to the Mistress's. He'd gone pale, his nostrils flared and his eyes became slits. Sirius stood at the other end of the room, holding up a half scorched pair of trousers.

Kreacher snapped his fingers and a silencing charm was quickly cast about the place.

"PUT IT BACK!" Regulus yelled, and his voice was perhaps even worse than Sirius' shout, sounding like the screech of an angered owl as its tallons clattered against a steel cage. Kreacher caught the older boy wincing, face then twisting into one of extreme irritation. The elf pulled his ears down and waited for the retaliation that was sure to come, but it never did.

Sirius threw the garment onto the bed, crossing his arms and standing up a little straighter than before. "Fix it."

Regulus opened his mouth to yell again, but any words he'd planned to use seemed to catch in his throat. He swallowed. "You fix it."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "You're the one that burnt it."

Regulus's mouth hung open, his eyes were wide as he seemingly searched his brain for a solution, but none came. Kreacher thought he could see the young Master pale even more, whether from distress or anger - or both - he was yet to be able to tell.

Regulus moved forward. Sirius stepped aside.

The burnt trousers laid smoking on the bed, coating the room in a scent so foul Kreacher let go of his ears and instead clamped his long nose shut. Regulus too looked as though he were about to be sick, although likely from more than just the smell of charred fabric.

The young Master held a shaking hand up, seemingly all too aware of Sirius's gaze on him. The older boy's eyes glinted as he watched his younger brother, his lips twisted into a sneer.

Regulus mouth had formed a thin opening, his lips wobbling. Kreacher only became aware of how much he had been staring at the two when the young Master's eyes flickered over to him, a certain desperation swirling inside, then he turned away.

"_R-reparo_," he spoke, voice like a glass shattering against the wall.

The garment lay still, just as burnt and black as it had been before. A snort sounded through the room, and Sirius jeered, "You can't do that without a wand."

Regulus stared at the bed, beginning to blink at a very rapid pace. Obviously that spell was all he knew how to do - he had seen their mother cast it on a number of occasions. Kreacher's gripped tightened on the edge of the dresser, something he'd been clutching for the past two minutes, and a quick snap of his fingers sent burnt trousers levitating, clean and just as new within seconds. The ashes they left behind on the bed disappeared, too.

Sirius blinked, staring at Kreacher, then jerked his head away as though batting an irksome fly. He stole a quick glance at Regulus, whose eyes were alight with tears and looked as though he would very much like to melt into the floor. "You're pathetic," Sirius said, before moving towards the door and flinging it open.

Kreacher shuffled out from behind the dresser and spoke to Sirius's back, perhaps a bit harsher than he had with Regulus. "Master should be in bed."

Sirius was about to close the door, but he turned dark eyes on Kreacher and muttered, "I don't care." Then he slammed it.

Kreacher growled, but tried not to be too annoyed - that wouldn't do any good. He only hoped his silencing charms hadn't failed like his warming charms had. He turned around to Regulus, goal set in mind - put the young Master back in bed where he belonged. But what he found was a boy who sat slumped against the wall, legs pulled up to his chest, and looking in no fit shape to move. Regulus's face had gained some colour back, but he was still pale, and a few tears seemed to had run down his face when Sirius's and Kreacher's backs were turned. Kreacher took a breath in, and spoke the same words for the third time that morning, albeit with a lot more firmness than before. "Master should be in bed."

Regulus licked his lips and swallowed again. For a moment, he looked he as though he were about to speak, but a sob held him back. He quivered, then clamped his mouth shut and turned away.

Kreacher was never one for this kind of comforting - those were not his orders. He snapped his fingers and the bed covers came undone, though his eyes narrowed when Regulus jerked and gripped the edge of the closet door.

"Master Regulus should be in bed," Kreacher growled, in a voice that would be sure to cut icy cracks in the wall had it not belonged to a little house elf, but Regulus merely shook his head.

"You can't tell me where I should be," he said. At first, he sounded hesitant, and the words came out quiet, but they were steady. Strong.

Kreacher gritted his teeth, already prepared to remind the young Master that he had been granted every right to tell him where he should be. He snapped his fingers, but the elf let his hard expression drop immediately after he did.

His jaw slacked, his eyes widened, and Regulus's pout turned into a soft smirk. "See," he said, and he pushed himself upright, then darted out of the room like an animal that had been freed from his cage.

Kreacher's magic had failed once more. There were many nows and agains in someone's life, but for such an isolated creature as a house elf, bound to one house and one family and one fate, he didn't have many memorable firsts. But for a mere space of a second, he began to really fear for Master Sirius.

That's when he ran from the room, his grubby feet slapping against the hardwood floor that lined the hall, polished and shining and as black as chiseled coal, a swirling void of cold that pulled him further into darkness with every step.

A chilling wind seemed to howl throughout the house, turning it sideways and pressing in the walls. The time between running from one end of the corridor to the other seemed to last a thousand, excruciating years. Kreacher stopped to catch his breath and listened for the sounds of footsteps, a voice, a cry. Instincts told him what to expect, but even they were capable of failing too.

What came to him was a soft flapping, as though there were a sheet above his head, blowing in the breeze. It grew into quiet crackles and pops, and a fire rose inside him, once a small flame, but now an inferno. Kreacher's heart palpitated, blood rushed into his ears and pounded inside his head. The cold hallway was no longer freezing, but burning with a heat so powerful he felt as though he'd melt. He forced himself back into a run, toward the door at the other end of the hall with Sirius's initials engraved upon a plague, a piece of parchment, a stone…

Kreacher shook his head, eyes wide and feeling as though they'd fall out, pushing the ridiculous thoughts away.

He snapped his fingers, and this time the door flung open. He would never be quite able to place what feeling had greeted him when it did.

Smoke engulfed him, seeped into every fold of his skin and corner of his mouth and nose, heavy with grit, sharp like knives as it pooled inside his lungs. The ash of tarnished bedding and wood came to greet him at his feet, grazing over the threshold like sand, only warmer, but somehow much softer.

Sirius sat pressed against the wall, hands at his sides and chest heaving in a way that seemed almost painful. His eyes were narrowed, but wide and bright, stiff as they turned to glance at Kreacher. But his attention didn't linger on the elf for even a second.

Regulus stood near the window, breaths coming in soft and slow. For a moment, he didn't appear to even be breathing at all, but certainly that much magic had drained him. His shoulders were squared, although his back was hunched. His face was pale and beaded with sweat, hands hanging in fists at his sides, ash brushing off his shoulder as a red and gold banner came loose and fell.

Heating the house had been taken care of well enough, but Kreacher wasted no time in casting a silencing charm throughout. He didn't think of just standing there as the two young Masters barred teeth at each other, but that was what he did.

"Think I'm pathetic now?" Regulus sneered. The quivering, nine year old boy was no longer. In his place was the voice granted only to the soul of a grown man, an angered one. Kreacher's instincts beckoned him to run, but his blood ran cold at the thought. He could only stand, frozen in place.

Sirius didn't speak, and for a while, it was only his breathing that filled the room as more banners fell. Kreacher risked a glance at him and was hardly expecting what he saw. Sirius's grey eyes were fixed on his brother's, and the elf knew that he was seeing something he hadn't. Turning back to Regulus, Kreacher saw that his expression had faltered slightly under his brother's gaze. That wasn't shocking - it happened all the time. But whilst Regulus's furious face remained, his eyes went back to being one with what they really were. Small, sad, childish and scared - it wasn't often that Kreacher could see the young Master standing over the elder, though. It was memorable indeed, something he would treasure. Pride overwhelmed him as every ounce he had suddenly surged through his heart for Regulus, for pulling himself up against the little traitor. A small smirk stretched across Kreacher's face. No. Never would he forget this.

Sirius tore his eyes away and glanced toward the fallen banners, burnt bedstead, charred blankets and sheets, wallpaper and frames, treasures from friends.

Then he looked back at Regulus, and spoke in a voice so cold and sincere even Kreacher didn't feel like jeering at him. "I hate you."

Silence rung through the room, heavier than the densest form of fog.

Regulus's eyes were shining. He stayed quiet as though for fear that his voice would break, but then he spoke again, words as venomous as the snake's. "Don't ever call me stupid or pathetic _again_," he hissed. "I hate you, too."

He gave Sirius a parting glance, before he stalked out of the room.

Kreacher turned to watch until he disappeared back into his room, closing the door behind him, then he turned back to see Sirius with his wand held loosely at his side, his face one of apprehension as he took in the destruction of his room more fully.

Then he remembered Kreacher. He turned desperate but disgustingly firm eyes on the elf. "Kreacher."

He shuffled into the room, mindful of the ash layering the floor, and began performing a series of quick cleaning spells without much contempt. His pride for Master Regulus was too overwhelming for him to be upset.

Once he was finished and retreated from the room, Sirius slamming the door behind him, he made for his original destination - the kitchen. He hadn't thought of punishing the young Masters by informing the Mistress of them, neither was he fond of the idea of having to punish himself for letting them get away with it. Both of them would have to wait longer than they would have for their breakfast, and as far as Kreacher was concerned, that was punishment enough, and a scornful look from the Mistress was something he could handle. She was not cruel.

Entering the basement, part of him felt a strain for having abandoned the beautiful morning that had already gone ignored. The windows shone with a wet, golden glow, illuminating the hall, brighter than any kind of firelight. But as he became immersed in the darkness he was so familiar with, regret left him like leaves in autumn, dissipating like a quiet rain storm, and was replaced by a thought, then a surge of satisfaction. Kreacher would have more firsts than any other house elf of his age. He was sure of it. Regulus showed more of himself than Kreacher had ever seen, for even if his actions were accidental magic, somehow he had managed to control it well enough, and that made the pride inside him grow even larger.

He hummed a little quiet tune as he moved about the kitchen, a certain kind of fondness a steady flame in his heart, and as a light on the stove flickered, Kreacher found himself setting a goal in mind, to see the day Regulus went beyond even what his mother and sire expected of him. His pride would bloom into an even brighter fire. One day.

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_**A/N:** Any kind of feedback is appreciated._


End file.
